


A Stark Sorting

by nickahontas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 03:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickahontas/pseuds/nickahontas
Summary: One shot of Sansa being sorted into Slytherin.





	A Stark Sorting

Jon Stark (technically Targaryen, but always a Stark) glanced up at the enchanted ceiling. The constellations shone down clearly. There was not a cloud in sight. The soaked little boy being swallowed up by Hagrid’s coat must have fallen in. Poor kid.  
  
“Found your sister yet?” Harry Potter asked.  
  
The two became close friends in their very first Hogwarts term. They commiserated mostly about being orphans of ancient pureblood families. Everyone knew their birth parents better than Harry and Jon it seemed. Jon at least had an aunt in France. The Potters had all been killed in the first war. Granted, the Targaryens hadn’t died in the war. It was some sort of incident involving a dragon and a Moroccan city.  
  
“What are you brooding for now?!” Theon Greyjoy demanded, shoving a second year out of the way. Robb apologized as he squeezed in too.  
Jon grew up in the Winterfell estate with all of the Starks and their ward/hostage. The Greyjoy had fought with Voldemort in the first war. Theon’s living situation was an attempt to keep the surviving krakens in Norway. Not that Father would ever let anything happen to Theon. He had actually cried when Theon wrote that he was sorted in Gryffindor.  
  
“Think she’ll pull a Ned?” Theon asked. Father was mercilessly teased for being the first Stark in years to not be in Gryffindor.  
  
Robb hit him upside the head. “There’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuff. Father and Mother both wore yellow.”  
  
Jon hummed. He still couldn’t find Sansa despite her bright auburn hair. Not quite as orange as a Weasley, not quite as dark as her mother’s. She always used to say that yellow would clash horribly with it. She might demand to be put anywhere else out of pure spite. Regardless, she wouldn’t be sorted there anyway.  
  
She was sweet, well mannered, and genuinely kind, but there was the (still) missing ancestral wand of Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf. There was also the time she and Jeyne had returned from one of their midnight excursions. Jon caught the girls sneaking out two summer ago, but didn’t say anything because a) he, Robb and Theon did it as well, b) everyone in Winter Town knew who they were, and c) he ordered Fondy, their grouchiest and most ironically named house elf, follow them.  
  
Jeyne Pool came trembling and weeping through the kitchen door. Sansa, by contrast, was very smug. The local paper listed quite a few instances that grew more disturblingly plausible the more headlines he’d read. Fondy never said what had happened that night. Only, “Mistress Sansa is a true direwolf.”  
  
Jon never said anything either. He had, however, slipped an enchanted bracelet to her under the dinner table. It was part of a set he nicked from the Winterfell archives. One warmed when the other was pressed. Every night around twelve, he would press his and wait. She wore it even when he left for Hogwarts.  
  
“I’ll bet you twelve galleons she’s not in Hufflepuff,” Jon offered.  
  
Theon scoffed. “Deal.”  
  
A couple of seats down, the Weasley twins glanced at each other. They did not know the younger Starks, but they knew better than to bet against Jon Stark. Or Harry Potter, for that matter.  
  
“We’re in,” George said.  
  
“Minus the Gryffindor bit,” Fred added.  
  
Theon and Robb twisted their mouths into a frown, but nodded. Jon wanted to throw in a bet for a howler from Lady Catelyn. He tossed the idea aside. Better not push his luck.  
  
The Sorting Song wasn’t very different from the previous years. Harry clapped enthusiastically.  
  
“Missed last years!” He said. “Would’ve missed this years if not for that spell. Thanks again.”  
  
“It wasn’t right,” Jon said with a frown. “They’re supposed to take the form of an animal. Not just be mist.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Kept them at bay long enough for Professor Lupin to arrive.”  
  
Finally, the Sorting began. It wasn’t until the H’s that he caught sight of her. She looked very pretty. More excited than nervous, as was the case for most pure and halfbloods. Jon really did pity the muggleborns. The experience must be absolutely terrifying if one didn’t know what to expect.  
  
“Oh! Is that her? Your sister is very pretty,” Hermione whispered.  
  
Jon’s long face broke out into a rare smile. “She’s very clever too.”  
  
“She doesn’t look like you,” Ron Weasley pointed out.  
  
“Ronald!” Hermione hissed.  
  
“Oh, yeah. Adopted. Sorry mate.”  
  
Jon shrugged. He didn’t mind. It was nice that people forgot he wasn’t a real Stark.  
  
A boy from Winter Town beamed when he was sorted into Gryffindor. Robb cheered the loudest, beckoning him over to their seats. Little Thomas turned redder than the new trim on his robes when he saw. He tripped on his way over.  
  
“Poole, Jeyne,” Professor McGonnagal called.  
  
Jeyne squeezed her hands to keep them from shaking. She didn’t have to wait long.  
  
“HUFFLEPUFF!” The Hat declared.  
  
Jon, Theon and Ron all cheered with the badgers. Jeyne ducked down, embarrassed and pleased at their commotion.  
  
Finally, McGonnagal looked up from her parchment. “Stark, Sansa.”  
  
Sansa made her way to the stool, hair shining and back straight. She sat primly with her legs crossed at the ankles just so. Her eyes roamed over the hall, finally catching on Robb before the Hat touched her head. Somehow, she seemed to wear it.  
  
The Hat chuckled at something that made her face screw up. Robb cast an apprehensive glance at Jon, who raised his brows in answer.  
  
“SLYTHERIN!” The Hat called out.  
  
Two beats of silence passed before even McGonnagal managed to recover. Robb and Theon gaped at one another. Dumbledore beamed at Professor Snape. Then Slytherin began to clap enthusiastically and the spell was broken.  
  
Robb stood and clapped, smiling so hard it hurt. Jon went to join him, then realized he was already standing. Theon, however, stood on the bench and screamed. “GET EM SANSA! GET EM!”  
  
“GREYJOY! SIT DOWN!” McGonnagal barked.  
  
He muttered something that could have been mistaken as an apology before he took his seat. He immediately began whispering to Robb.  
  
“How long has it been since a Stark was put in Slytherin?” He asked, grey eyes alight with fervor.  
  
“I dunno. Centuries. The last I remember is.....” He peered at Jon with wide eyes. “The Hungry Wolf!”  
  
Theon gaped. “The wand! You don’t think....”  
  
Jon smirked, pointedly looking up at the last handful of first years.  
  
“Do you know something?!” Robb hissed.  
  
“No,” he said. He had his suspicions, though. That wand was probably hiding outside Bran’s window. (Jon also had his suspicions that Bran would be in Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor, but he kept his mouth shut. Better not to press his luck.)  
  
When Dumbledore gave his speech and the tables were laden with food, Jon pressed the bracelet to his wrist. It seared with warmth.  
  
He’d still check every night. Just in case.


End file.
